


Don't worry about him, he's armless

by therune



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 04:18:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1884873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therune/pseuds/therune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Gorilla attack, the Rogues try to get their lives back together, but none more so than Axel. With his arm missing, trapped in the hospital, he has not a lot to live for. His annoying visitor isn't helping either. Why won't Jesse leave? That is not the father figure he wanted, not that he wanted one. Denial is strong with this one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue + Chapter 1

**Prologue**

It's not the sight nor the sound, it's this feeling. Like a big crash, like someone falling from a great height, it's not something that you primarily hear, it's something you can feel, deep in your bones. Like a punch to your ribs. Except there's not one crash, not one person falling: it's an army descending, a feral mob: shrieks you only heard on TV before and you were convinced were fake. But it's not TV, not Animal Planet or a horror flick, it's real life. And your world's drowning, in fear and chaos. Someone should do something. Something needs to be done. Where is your hero when you need one? When you need one most, why isn't he there? Why are you left alone, left to die, to bleed until there's nothing left? Another crash, another scream. You want to wake up, but you fear that you may be awake already.

 

**Chapter 1**

 

When David finally went to visit Hartley – much too late, he should have come sooner, but the police needed help with clean-up badly and Hartley wasn't badly hurt – he stopped in the gift shop and brought a card that played 'Happy Birthday' when it was opened. He hoped that Hartley would appreciate the gesture; at least it was better than the sets of cards chirping 'It's a boy!', 'It's a girl' and ' Whatever it is, we love it'.

Of course David had a bad conscience – putting his job before Hartley again – but this had been a catastrophe – super powered gorillas didn't invade every day. David had helped Hartley to one of the ambulances and demanded that someone tend to him. He didn't know if it was his badge or his, as he was told later, frightful facial expression, that convinced the paramedics, but it had done the job.

Piper has been leaning heavily on him and David could tell that it was something serious; not life-threatening, but something that would have to be tended immediately. Thoughts of concussion, pain, this sickness, that wound, stories he had heard from the guys on the force, stories he had heard from victims in accidents and crime, flooded his head, but he held himself together. This was the last thing Hartley needed.

The EMT, hopelessly overworked, managed a brief smile as David helped – more like lifted – Hartley on the stretcher, and then secured the straps. “We're driving to the Keystone Memorial, they have some space left. Or to put it better, they have less patients to deal with, for now.” David barely noticed the other men and women crowding in the back of the ambulance – holding cloth that was once white and new became redder by the minute to their heads, clutching various limbs close, a woman silently weeping. He considered climbing in – he couldn't leave Hartley – but that would be selfish. He wasn't hurt apart from a few scratches and scrapes, and he'd only take space meant for someone who really needed it. Hartley seemed to sense his inner conflict, as he so often did.

“Go on already, they need you more than I do. I've been through worse,” he said, smiling softly.

Suddenly, something inside David swelled up hotly and he leaned forward and placed a kiss on Hartley's forehead. “Are you really going to be okay?”

“Remind me to tell you a bit about Rogues drunken adventures, this is nothing in comparison.”

His smile had been a little bit shaky, but confident.

 

Soon David had joined the paramedics, firefighters, police officers and the horde of civilians who wanted to help. He had only found out afterwards that they then had taken Hartley to another hospital, because they feared that his implants might have been damaged which they couldn't diagnose without the medical equipment the Keystone General offered. His heart had pounded in his chest as he had gone to the Memorial and no one had ever heard of Hartley being there, but a few phone calls where he might have threatened some poor nurses, later, and he had found Hartley.

 

The hospital was crowded, everyone either needing attention or seeking a loved one. This time it was the badge which cleared the way to Hartley. According to the tag on the door, he was in a two person room with four other people, the extra names scribbled on colorful post-its and glued to the wall. After steeling himself -and chastising himself immediately afterward, you shouldn't feel the need to steel yourself before seeing your boyfriend – he opened the door and found the unexpected.

Hartley was in the first bed on the door side, lying under a thin white blanket, looking fine. And next to him was a strange man, sharing his bed.

 

Thankfully the other man was on top of the covers and fully clothed, even still wearing his shoes.

“And then I said, at least you offered to buy me a drink first.”

After a very brief moment of silence, Hartley erupted into laughter. It was his “I can't help it, I have to laugh” laughter which David had only heard a couple of times. It made him look incredibly goofy. Quickly, David did a scan of the room: four other beds, all occupied with one person; two people asleep, one staring out of the window and the man in the bed besides Hartley's trying to suppress a grin.

Only then did Hartley notice him.

“David! You came.”

He sat upright and just smiled at him. No one should look good lying in the hospital, especially not if one was wearing tattered remains of a superhero costume, but Hartley was radiant. Slowly he wanted to get up but David came to his side and placed a hand on his chest, stopping him.

“It's fine, you don't have to get up; rest for a bit.”

Hartley's warm hand covered his and David felt all anxiety melt away. Hartley did have that effect on him.

An embarrassingly long moment later, he remembered the proverbial elephant in the room: the man in Hartley's bed. David really, really wanted him to be a patient for whom they didn't have a bed, but the man looked fine. And utterly too comfortable. He was tall, wore a blue suit – tailor-made and very stylish – and a gold tie lay loosened around his collar. The stranger had blonde hair, blue eyes and was looking at him with a very disconcerting grin. It was hard to phase David – living in Keystone made you reevaluate your definition for 'weird' – but this grin did it.

“I bet you desperately want to know who I am,” the stranger suspected and sat upright. He extended a hand towards David, “Hi, I'm James.”

“David Singh,” he replied almost mechanically and took the offered hand. James' grip was firm and there was something nagging at the back of David's mind. That name rung a bell.

“I know these last days have been a little crazy, but still, explain something to me: what are you doing in Hartley's bed?”

 

“Would you believe me if I said that the hospital ran out of beds?”

“Not really, no.”

“Pity, that would have been a great story. I'm an old friend who came by to visit.”

“And stayed. In bed.”

“On his bed, mind your prepositions.”

Hartley failed miserably at suppressing a grin.

“We're old friends, he dropped by for a visit.”

“After I noticed your monkey redecoration, I decided to take a look. And what did I find, in the hospital, in a room with his name on the wall? Piper!”

Oh, so this was an 'old' friend, from Hartley's past life. He seemed well off, perhaps he got out and turned his fate just in time. Or he was a better criminal than the rest.

“I have to say, it's more comfy than his old couch, at least.”

“And yet you came back to crash on that.”

“Better to crash on the couch than into a building.”

David felt that there was a story he wasn't a part of.

And then it hit him. James! As in Hartley's ex-boyfriend James! No wonder that name was familiar. That brought up many questions – When? Why? - but the one that interested David the most was

the How. How did that guy get here – the hospital and Hartley's room?“

 

Briefly jealousy flared in David, a feeling he was usually not accustomed to: some ex of Hartley's, infuriatingly utterly comfortable with public displays of affection, handsome to boot, had found Hartley before him! He hadn't met any of Hartley's exes before, but had heard stories. James was the longest relationship Hartley had ever had, it lasted several years before they split up. And apparently they were on very friendly terms, still. David tried to swallow those new, unpleasant feelings down and forced a grin.

James noticed his discomfort, titled his head and grinned in that disconcerting way again, until Hartley elbowed him in the side.

“Stop it, you're doing that on purpose.”

“Doing what?”

“That.”

“What that?”

“James!”

“Piper!”

Then Hartley grinned and pushed James.

“Out, I need private time with David and you can...do whatever it is you usually do in hospitals.”

“Steal rubber gloves, blow them up, paint faces on them and generally make a mess?”

“Yes, you do that. Come visit me tomorrow, I should be discharged in 36 hours.”

“As you wish,” James said and rolled off the bed in a fluid motion that did absolutely not make David's jealousy flare up. He gave a mock bow and went to the door.

 

 

 

There was black fur, strength and a horrible tear. After that, nothing. At least nothing his brain would supply him with and he was grateful for it. Yay for trauma and repressed memories. Axel would never remember lying in a too quickly growing pool of his own blood, would never remember the Flash hurrying him to an ambulance nor the trip the the hospital, wired up to machinery and needles in his arm. He never regained consciousness in the emergency room or the surgery. Hist first glimpse of the world was a white-ish spot: the ceiling of his recovery room. Not that he knew it was the ceiling or where he was, or even who he was at the time. Yay for painkillers. Really strong ones. There were a few waking moments, when one of the doctors came to shine a light into his eyes, check the vitals on the machines or do small tests, but he forgot them as soon as he drifted back to sleep. His dreams during that times, to put it mildly, were absolutely fucked up. King Kong, a lot of blood and screams, monsters, running and then the weird dreams about birds. And that recurring one about eating a cloud.

Axel awoke for real – as in he remembered doing so – on the third day after the surgery. There was a pretty nurse, talking calmly, asking questions and nodding understandingly when he couldn't and wouldn't respond. She patted his arm and wrote down something on a chart. “I'm glad you woke up, you had us worried here, young man.” He was probably biased, but her smile was the best thing ever. Yay for whatever drugs these were. Everything was a tiny bit fuzzy around the edges.

“I'm going to fetch Dr Young now. Don't worry, you're in very good hands.”

She left the room. Axel looked at what used to be his arm and wondered why he wasn't freaking out. It felt surreal – he felt like he should be yelling, raging, cursing everything and everyone, breaking stuff and just screaming his pain out to the world. But he couldn't. There was numbness and a distant shock. My arm is gone. My arm is _gone_. _My_ arm is gone. My _arm_ is gone. _My arm is gone_.

He became aware of other sensations, like the IV in his arm – the one he still had – dull pain just at the edge of being and something in his head. Like.... a pillow, or a cloud. Something blocking him – or shielding him? Why wasn't he yelling? Why wasn't he crying? He guessed that this was too big for his mind to handle, so it decided to just don't. The sun was already beginning to set again, sending red into his room. The room was blank except for an impressive array of machinery of which the majority was hooked up to him. He turned his head slightly and saw three curves and a lot of numbers on a screen. And a lot of cables leading underneath the blanket. He felt like Frankenstein. Half he wished for a mirror, half he feared there would be one. But on the wall was just an ugly painting of colorful splashes which probably cost a fortune and looked like something he might have done in kindergarten. Next to his bed was an uncomfortable looking chair – empty of course - and a plastic table. The light shone through blinds at the window.

The nurse – her name tag said something with an S- returned with a doctor who looked remarkably like the Kentucky Fried Chicken guy. He went over a few charts, looked at the screen and said something Axel deemed irrelevant afterward and forgot about.

Nurse S told him that he'd have a long way ahead of him, physiotherapy, this-therapy and that-therapy, and tests for something or other. Then she asked if he wanted something special for breakfast or lunch later, if he felt up to toast, maybe a peanut butter and jam sandwich? Axel felt his body getting heavy and growing warm, he was tired, but pleasantly so. Her voice was nice to listen to.

Did he like tea? Or would he prefer cocoa? Most hospital food has a bad rep, but ours was not bad.

Oh, if he was allergic to peanuts? Nevermind, you go to sleep, I'll just ask your father when he comes back.

At that time, he was sure that he had dreamed the last part. As if his dad would show up here.

 

Axel was woken up repeatedly by some doctors who did some tests and spoke gently in hushed tones. Only on the third time he noticed that there was someone in the chair next to his bed, but he couldn't make out who it was. He wanted to say something, to find out who this was, and if this figure was real or just a dream. A hand squeezed his, there was a whisper, but he couldn't understand a word, and then he fell asleep again.

 

The next morning, a different nurse – not as pretty as nurse S – woke him up. She explained that normal hospital procedure and schedule was messed up – no kidding, but there had been a fucking gorilla invasion – so he could have breakfast first and then get cleaned up. Axel made a joke about sponge bath, she replied that she could get nurse Adam for that and both laughed. Then Axel tried very not to think about his current body hygiene and that he had been pretty much just lying here for days. He had assumed at first that the cables were for EEGs or something, but some must have been there for other uses. Nasty.

At least breakfast smelled good. The nurse – what a joke, her name was Eve – offered to spoonfeed him – or have Adam come in if he liked that – but he wanted to do this on his own. He had just opted for his toast instead of the steaming mug when she fluffed his pillow and told him that his dad had to leave at about 9am but that he said he'd be back. What a dedicated father he was, so caring. And sexy, she added with a wink. Now all doubt was gone, whoever that man was, he wasn't Axel's dad. Axel's dad was a bitter man who had never gotten over the fact that his wife whom he had mistreated for years on end had found the courage to leave him and remarried. Not that she was any better than him, she was quite happy to leave Axel in the hands of his father. Axel had grown up first between two fronts who blamed everyone but themselves – preferably Axel – for everything that went wrong, and then with a father who constantly told him that life was about “tricking or getting- tricked” as he had been tricked by his bitch of an ex-wife. It was no wonder he latched onto a new father figure, even if that one had been a supervillain. For a brief moment he hoped that Len or Mark had sneaked into the hospital and pretended to be his dad – Sam and Mick would have been impossible – but he knew that was false hope. Not after what he did.

But just in case, he wasn't going to tell the staff that his “father” wasn't who he claimed to be and subtly tried to get the nurse to talk about him a bit more. She said that the nurses – yes, even Adam – whispered about him, apparently there was something women found inherently sexy about a man being a dad – and that Axel was just like him; blonde, witty, even his dad was tall and he wasn't and she quoted, complete with gestures “sex on legs in a three-piece Italian suit”.

 

Nurse S – it turned out that S stood for Soledad – came in with a wheel chair to bring him to a scan. This time for his brain, to check how his nerves coped...or something. He toned out most medical things, whether it was out of not-knowing or psychical self-preservation. He asked why he couldn't walk there – his legs were the part of him that were fine – but she said it was for insurance reasons.

“Are the night-gowns for insurance, too?”

“Mainly we just like the view,” she retorted. If he hadn't had a thing for nurses before – hell, which men hadn't? - he sure had one now.

The scan itself was boring. After injecting him with something, he lay motionless on a bed while some machine whirred above him. The doctor told him again and again not to move, it messed up the pictures or something. But it was so boring, and everything in him just itched to act out and mess up. He restrained himself, though, they'd just leave him in here even longer if he misbehaved and he had better things to do than to lie on a bed and do nothing.

Not really, but at least he could scratch himself then.

The test was over, and he was let go. Finally.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 

A few hours later, he had been to the bathroom and had almost thrown up on his way back, despite being pushed around in a wheelchair. There was a fatigue that didn't seem to go away, with no amount of sleep. He asked the nurse about an energy drink, or just something bursting with sugar, but of course she declined. Soledad came out of Axel's room and winked at him and the nurse behind him.

“You have a visitor,” she said dreamily and went on her way.

“PleasebeLenpleasebelenpleasebelen,” Axel hoped, but it wasn't him. He didn't even know what had happened to the Rogues. Or the Flash. Or anything really. He really should pick someone's pocket for a phone.

Inside his room, gazing out of the window, was Jesse. James fucking Jesse, former Trickster, sell-out and hypocrite. Fucking traitor. He wore a white shirt, dark blue waistcoat and a yellow tie, hair slicked back. The suit jacket hung over the ugly chair.

“There you are, my boy,” he said, sounding so genuinely worried and looking so loving and hurt, that Axel believed him for a second. Until he bent down to embrace Axel and whispered a “play along or I'll steal your morphine” and then straightened with a smile. “Can you give us a minute?” he asked the nurse who obliged and left. Jesse closed the door after her. His smile fell as soon as the door closed.

“What the hell do you want here?” Axel spat.

Jesse grimaced.

“And here I thought you'd like to have a visitor.”

“Not you.”

“Pity, me is all you get.”

Axel tried to wheel himself over to his bed, but with one arm, he just banged into a table.

“Why are you here?”

“I'm actually just visiting a friend, and you happened to be here as well, so I decided to take a look.”

“I'm fine, get out.”

“You're missing an arm,” Jesse pointed out.

And the dam finally broke. Whatever walls his mind had put up to protect itself, they crumbled to dust in the matter of a second.

“I know!” he screamed, “my arm is gone! Gone! A fucking ape took my arm! He ripped it off!”

Hot tears ran over his cheeks, a lump in his throat made the screaming harder, but not impossible.

“Grodd took my arm! He just -.”

Axel screamed, and screamed. Until he could scream no more. Then he started to sob and curls in on himself, good arm, still with an IV attached, grasped where his arm should have been. He rocked back and forth, sobbing and howling.

“Why?” he asked, “why?”

Jesse's face is a mask, not betraying any emotion. “Because you were stupid.”

Axel stared at him. That's what people have always said to him. No-good. Troublemaker. Delinquent. Stupid. Idiot. But then Jesse tilted his head, looked pondering.

“But, I don't think that you are going to be stupid any more, are you?”

“What?”

“You faced down a crazed gorilla and survived. Not everyone can claim that. Not everyone in this hospital will be able to say this at the end of this day. You live. And you should cherish that.”

He picked up his jacket, and put it on. There was a white card clipped to it, but Axel couldn't read what it said.

“I'll leave you to your thoughts.”

And he left, and as the door closed behind him, Axel started to sob.

It felt like hot steel was poured down his throat and he couldn't breathe properly. His hand, since he only had one anymore, clutched at the armrest helplessly. Inside, he felt like an burning oven, but on the outside – his grip was weak, like he could barely close his fist.

After a while a male nurse came in and helped him from the chair to his bed. Axel tried to hide his face and just wanted to be left alone. He wanted this to stop. Anything, but this. No more friends, no more Rogues, no more arm – let's face it, his career was over. He was done. With desperation, he looked at the machines he was hooked up to. One clever pull, and it would be all over. Or maybe he could increase his morphine dosage, going out in bliss. The window didn't look far away, and his legs still worked. At least, his legs. Axel looked at the stump where his arm was. Should have been. Would have been, if he hadn't been stupid. His father always said that his recklessness and stupidity would get him killed...maybe it was time he put that to the test. He had seen in countless movies how the heroes ripped out the IV needle with one short tug, and just walked out of the door. He could do it. This gained him a burst of energy, of resolution. No more, not like this.

The decision was made.

He moved to rip out the IV and couldn't. He had no second hand to pull it out, since it was in his arm. His single arm. And then, he screamed. He thrashed and tried to force it out, to shake his arm and just make it stop. With a metallic crash, the IV pole fell to the ground, and alarms began to shriek. The beeping of the machines turned into a cacophony. But then they went quieter. No, he was going away from them. Although he hadn't moved. There was soft darkness creeping in at the edges of his vision. Sound was going away, as well as sight. Strange sounds, like a mechanical hum, or like an old camera recharging. There were white figures rushing into his room, but it didn't get any brighter at all. Is this it? Had he done it?

Probably, otherwise the people wouldn't hurry so.

With his last thought, he realized that he had been wrong. So wrong.

Axel wanted to live.

 

The next few hours passed by for him in a matter of minutes, he was barely conscious for 10 seconds in a row. For the doctors, it were stressful hours that seemed like days. The patient has had a fit and managed to tore open stitches, rip the IV out and almost fall off the bed. The surgery was long and bloody. Almost, he didn't make it. But the doctors fought - they had seen enough death in the last days to last them ten lifetimes – and it seemed like the patient was fighting with them.

 

Axel awoke to pain. Quite a lot – more than he had felt when he had first woken up in the hospital. His left side felt like it was on fire. That had been the stupidest thing he had ever done. Period. Gingerly he tried to move his fingers – all five of them – and his toes. He was relieved when it worked. His mouth felt like cotton. As he was cataloging his bodily sensations – catheter, tight bandages, itch at his ankle and the overall feeling that a steamroller had run him over and then put in reverse to finish the job – he felt something on his wrist. At first he thought that the doctors had duct-taped the IV to his arm – he couldn't blame them, not really – but it was strangely warm. Axel blinked and tried to make his eyes focus – it was surprisingly hard – and took a closer look. It was a hand...thankfully attached to an arm, which was in rolled-up shirtsleeves and that arm was attached to – Jesse? Oh that was weird. They hated each other, had proven that on multiple occasions. Jesse had been part of the first crew, when the Rogues were getting started, along with the traitor Piper. But then Piper had left. Some shit went down that no one of the Rogues would ever talk about, not in their most talkative drunken phases – and Axel had heard a lot of things he had never wanted to hear during those – and when Axel had brought it up when they were sober, Sam had looked like he wanted to strangle Axel. So, Axel didn't push further. Jesse must have left after or during the shit that went down – maybe him leaving was the big secret? But it wasn't secret at all and everyone could look that up on the internet – and done....something. Rumors said that he played Robin Hood, that he went abroad, became a monk, joined a circus or joined the police; so Axel believed none of them. But that left his position vacant and Axel – desperate to prove himself and ready to make a name – took it.

 

Axel had been desperate to prove himself. Cocky, brash, and with a strange talent to poke at whichever weak spot he saw. He got really got at digging that in when anyone else would have stopped. But normal courtesy and manners didn't interest him. When he felt slighted, he lashed out. Insults and sneering words, kicks and then usually explosives. Axel wanted in so badly, so he talked to people who knew people who had been wronged by the Trickster somehow. Surprisingly, most of them were criminals – honor among thieves didn't seem to extend beyond anyone who wasn't a Rogue. Axel found an abandoned hideout that had belonged to the Trickster once – if the scattered toys and craters in the ground were anything to go. He'd been looking for a hint, a sign, equipment that was left behind, maybe some broken stuff he could fix, but nothing. Zilch, nada, nothing. So he left. A few days later, he came back. He didn't know he had expected, but it was something to do. Then it got boring and he left.

And yet he came back again, like something was drawing him there. Or because he felt like he was closer to someone. The Trickster? Who he wanted to be? Or - he felt like he was at the end of his road, really. He was cold, tired, and on top of it all, it was raining heavily. His own place wasn't much better, really, and he went back to the abandoned hideout. He sat and waited, and watched the rain fall. Broken toy train to the left. Chunks of a sofa. Sooty rug. Marbles strewn all over. He felt around in his pockets for a cigarette but didn't find any. Not even a pack of gum. But then, he heard a soft clink. Like something hitting glass. Hail? No, like glass on glass. The marbles? But he hadn't touched them. Yet they were rolling, slowly. An old trick, old trap? They rolled down and – soggy carpet! Axel pulled away the remains of the carpet and there was a hatch! Bent and burnt and heavy, but that's why you rob a hardware store, isn't it? An hour later, Axel came back with a duffel bag full of tools and a small bag of cash. He cracked open the hatch, was dosed with paint – old trap – and found a goldmine. Well, more of an old box that contained a yo-yo and a pair of airwalkers, but it was everything he wanted and needed. It was the day he found his calling. It was another three months before he got the shoes in operating condition. But it was time, he was ready. And then he set out to find the Rogues.

 

 

According to the nurse, Jesse had been seen here on multiple days, apparently checking in on Axel, pretending to be his dad. That caused a bittersweet feeling in Axel he couldn't place at first. As much as he wanted to have a proper dad, a father figure, the fact that the only one who had even bothered to show up was one who hated him, brought back issues he had assumed buried under lots of denial and the grim acceptance that his family sucked balls. Axel had wanted a dad that would protect instead of blame him, a mother who cared instead of shrieked, and when his old family fell short, he found a new one: the Rogues. Sure, they were bastards, every single one of them, even Lisa (whom was he kidding, especially Lisa), but they did care. And they protected him, and in return Axel had cared and protected them. But he had to screw it up, he had gotten too greedy, too violent, too proud, and in order to prove himself, he had formed a gang of thugs; people that dressed in blue and yellow and were meant to act as cannon fodder for the Rogues when things went south. But then things went south because of the thugs, and the Rogues shut them down and cast him out.

Maybe it was for the better, seeing as they had used that stupid machine months later and Axel wasn't there. He didn't know for sure what had happened to them, besides the obvious, but Lisa had been comatose, Mark unstable, Sam trapped in his mirrors and Mick – fuck, Mick was a burn victim walking. Axel considered himself lucky – he had been left out, but unharmed. Who knows what the machine would have done to him?

But that was another family who had abandoned him. But at least this time, it came with the grim realization that he had screwed up, and that he knew who was responsible. But he had thought that they were getting along better, at least a bit. And he wished, deep down, that they would have come to see him. But no one had shown themselves. Not a single Rogue, not anyone he cared about.

Only Jesse – who had come close to holding his hand while he slept, as creepy and strangely comforting as the thought felt – had come, and he had never hidden just how much he hated Axel. Why couldn't someone else be here? Why couldn't someone he liked be here? Why couldn't someone who liked him be here? Where was his family? Why did no one come?

His breath hitched and he fought back the urge to sob. He wasn't going to cry. Especially not with a guy practically holding his hand. He could feel his eyes slipping shut. As he threw a final glance at Jesse, he noticed a white patch on his arm. Then he fell asleep again.

 

There was a knock on the door. Which was strange, because no one ever knocked on his door. Not in the good old days when the guys would come around, they'd burst in or holler. And now – a mirror call from Sam was usually what he got, at the most. And since it was a steel door set in an old steel work – gotta love a recession – it sure wasn't a Jehova's witness or girl looking for her lost cat. He was torn between preserving his hideout and pretending no one was there, or to frighten the poor soul who was out there for life. He'd had a bad day – when did he not have bad days? - and so decided to scare the living crap out of the person outside. Sparks danced around his body, he felt the inner fire, the flame ablaze, he opened the door and was faced with a carton of beer. It took him a few seconds to process this and peer around the carton to look at the person holding the beer. Jesse. James fucking Jesse. He was clad in a suit, a bit rumpled, with a devil-may-care smile on his face.

“First guest brings the snacks?” James said with a hint of hesitation in his voice.

“I don't see pretzels,” Mick replied and moved to the side so James could enter.

“Yeah, but you were gonna torch them anyway, so why bother?”

Christ, that had been a life-time ago, back when James waltzed into their hideout, carrying boxes full of food and booze and the Rogues were wary of about anything he handed them. Marco's tongue had been dyed green for almost a week thanks to some special Trickster candy. And the last time – the pretzels were fuming. Purple.

A crack snapped hi back to reality. James had sat himself down on a chair and had opened a beer can. He tossed it to Mick.

“I hope you don't expect me to taste-test it.”

“I've known you for 10 years and know fully well that you'd eat spiked food just to throw us off anyway.”

“Yeah, good times.”

The silence after had a bad taste to it, toxic.

“What's up with you,” Mick said and took a sip. The liquid that touched his lips was scorchingly hot. Just like he liked it. It wasn't as if he' d had a choice. Marco had drunkenly called him a fiery Midas and Mick had, in retaliation, burned a car to slag. He still didn't know what Marco had meant by that, exactly.

“Not much, really, I'm in town after gorillapalooza and decided to get in touch with a few old friends, that's all.”

“To see if we're still alive?”

“Something like that.”

James leaned back and the chair was only standing on two legs.

It was quiet again, and Mick didn't like that at all. Silence with James was like a canary in a coal mine – if the canary was dead, the mine was dangerous. If the Trickster was silent, then something was wrong.

“Well, we're still alive and kicking. Bit banged up, but we'll manage.”

“What about the knock-off?”

“Knock-off?”

“Yeah, the pretender. Falsey. Off-brand Trickster. Guy who stole my name. The punk you replaced me with.”

Oh. James had been....hurt, after Axel had become public. He'd sneaked up on a few of them in an alleyway, demanded an explanation. Len, in one of his drunken stupors had said that if he didn't want to be part of them anymore, they'd find someone who was. Mick had thought it wrong, wanted to speak out, but, truth be told, everyone was feeling like crap. He didn't like James leaving. Not that he particularly liked Axel then, but sometimes the best way to get rid of pain was hurting others, so he lashed into James as well. Now, Mick had seen a lot of James over the years – amusement, boredom, fun, even concern, seriousness at some rare times – but on that day he saw all the masks drop away and reveal hurt and anger. Deep, proper anger that ate you up from inside. Like he felt now.

“He, uh, was stupid. Tried to reason with Grodd, got his ass kicked.”

“Still alive?”

Sam had checked.

“Yeah.”

Mick wondered why James was really here. To rub salt into wounds, new and old? That didn't seem like James' style, but …

“Why are you really here?”

“Wouldn't you like to know,” James said and got up.

He walked over to where Mick was leaning against the wall.

“I'd offer you a handshake if I was sure that my hand would survive intact.”

“You can see yourself out,” Mick replied sharply.

James had always been good at getting under your skin, like a fine needle that slipped through the cracks in your defenses.

James grinned at him, joylessly, like a reflex.

Mick looked at him, and up close, he looked ….off.

“Bye Mick,” James said flippantly and left.

Mick slammed his fist on the table as soon as James was gone.

A beer can cluttered to the ground, and exploded in a puff of green smoke.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 

He was sitting alone in a booth in a café that had survived the recent attack. Incognito, of course. It was ridiculous how much time he'd spent in the costume lately. Someone slipped into the booth to sit opposite him and just as he was about to react and tell them to go away, the words got stuck in his throat.

“Marco, nice to see you.”

James. Immaculately dressed, with a pleasant smile on his face, just as you'd expected to see on the face of someone who was greeting an old friend. Marco didn't trust it one second.

Not after...

“Can I get you something?” a waitress interrupted.

“Cup of espresso, please,” James ordered.

As the waitress walked away to another table, Marco spoke up.

“I don't think I ever saw you witness ordering something that didn't have an ton of sugar crammed inside it somewhere.”

“I seem to have lost the taste,” James replied, “among other things.”

Suddenly the latte macchiato tasted like ash.

“What do you want?”

“Can't I drop by and check how my old friends are doing?”

“Normally yes, but not you. Everything you say has a false bottom. Or two.”

“Why so defensive, Marco? Why so uncomfortable? It's not like you have something to feel bad about..”

The “or do you?” went unspoken, but not unheard.

Okay, it was horrible how they treated him after …. after the hell they went through, but still, everyone had a lot of stuff on their plate. It wasn't his fault that James had felt betrayed. Probably still did.

The waitress brought James' cup and James smiled and thanked her.

When he looked back to Marco, the smile fell off his face.

“It's creepy how you do that,” Marco remarked.

“Not accustomed to mood swings? I thought you'd be an expert regarding that subject. Sunshine one day, thunderstorm the next. Literally.”

“Please don't-”

“Please don't what?”

“Don't do that.”

“Don't do what?”

“Stop playing.”

“Stop playing what?”

“James!” Marco shouted enraged. His hands shook, and a sudden gust of wind slammed the door to the cafe wide open.

“I do believe that's a hint,” James said and got up. “You should watch out, my friend. I feel like there's a storm coming on.”

“Don't mock me, James.”

“Goodbye, Marco. I mean it.”

And then he was gone.

 

 

 

 

 

When Axel came to, it was dark outside. He was back in his room, thank god. Not dead. He glanced at his stump and saw red on fresh bandages.

He heard people talking – Jesse and Soledad, who was flirting with Jesse. Well, two could play at this charade.

“Dad,” he said in a whiny voice, and while both turned to face him, Soledad smiled sympathetically and Jesse glared at him.

“You had us worried there,” she said in a hushed, quiet voice. Why did people always use that voice with sick people?

“I know, I'm sorry. Can I talk to my dad, please?”

“Sure, sweetie.” She left the room and closed the door.

“You're an ass,” Jesse announced.

“About time I got back at you.”

Axel felt better, somehow. Like himself again. He may be still in pain, but it was no longer the kind that just sapped his strength away. It felt cleaner, more focused. It felt like properly waking up.

”So, you almost managed to kill yourself. Again.”

“Are you disappointed that it didn't take?”

Jesse quirked an eyebrow. “Welcome back.”

“What?”

“If you're going to play dumb, I'll take it back.”

“No, no, it's alright. I feel like me again, so I guess I'm back. Sorta.”

“Don't expect congratulations.”

“So you didn't bring me a cake. Or one of those ridiculous balloons they sell in hospital gift shops?”

“I regret coming here,” Jesse replied.

“Why did you come?” Axel asked. He would have liked an honest answer, as unlikely as the chance of getting one was.

“Because no one else came.”

“What shit reason is that?” Axel asked, something in his chest tightening and squeezing.

“Apparently a much better reason than anyone else had for coming.”

Axel wanted to lash out, to yell “why do you care?” and to hurl all the pain and loss he felt at James and just scream. But he hesitated for one second and then he saw it. It didn't make sense. It felt wrong. Not the yelling, that felt too right, but James being here and speaking calmly. Sure, Axel was in no shape to play “patty cake”, but he'd expected something – snide remarks, about how stupid he was, not worthy of the name and how James would have done a much better job. But this, this was disturbing. Maybe it was the hospital atmosphere – nothing was ever good in hospitals – but James looked....off.

This whole thing was wrong. And then he had a thought, a tiny terrible thought. But it fit. It would explain it all...

“Are you dying?”

James tensed up, just a bit. “You are the one on the hospital bed and been literally decimated.”

“You haven't said no.”

“Really?”

“Don't give me that. I know when adults are lying to me.” And he did, he just knew when adults came with “you'll understand when you're older”, “not now” and just plainly lied. It was weird, he'd never think James would do that.

James took a long, long look at him, exhaled and it was like he shrank. Like the life left him, he seemed pale and worn down.

“I am dying.”

Axel felt like he had been punched. That explained....some. James – and when had he begun to think of him as James? Probably during the not-hand holding – was dying, he was going on a last tour, so it seemed. Visit friends and family, make arrangements, and in his case- - tie up loose ends. And it explained why he wasn't being malicious and instead uncharacteristically friendly. People change when their days are numbered.

“You're sick?” he guessed.

“Yes, have been for years. And well, I'm so good no one noticed. I kept it hidden, I just went on. But it got worse lately, it's ...progressing. Last month, someone noticed. A colleague asked me if I was alright, I seemed tired.” He smiled and it was so sad, Axel felt that it was wrong to see that smile, it was wrong for that smile to exist there, on James' face. “Do you know that was the first time someone ever asked me if I was alright? All my life I have smiled, pretended I was fine when I wasn't, smiled when I wanted to cry. But I can't, not anymore. People start to read me, and it sucks. That's not how it's supposed to be.”

“How long?” Axel asked with a dry throat.

“Not sure. 2 months, half a year, maybe a full year. Maybe less.”

“There's no cure?”

“I wouldn't be here if there was.” Harsh, but it was the truth and Axel was glad for it.

“Why are you here? You hate me.”

“Oh yes, I do,” James sat up, steepled his fingers together and stared at Axel. It was as if he could see through Axel, see through the mask, his skin and into his innermost core. And it should have been terrifying, but it was cool. “But I have to come to terms that you are what's left of me, what will be left.”

“What?” Axel couldn't believe it.

“You took my name. And you took it away. Today there are people who say 'Trickster' and mean you. And in a few years, people will say 'Trickster' and, in case you haven't managed to die and someone else took my name, there will no doubt that that's you. And when those people hear 'James Jesse', they will respond with 'who?'. I can't stop this process, not for long. And I don't like it, but you are what remains. You, Axel, are my legacy.”

Axel was silent for a bit. There was this bittersweet feeling again: he had approval...but not from someone he liked, but someone who hated his guts. It was a conflicted feeling.

“I don't approve of almost everything you do. I hate how you warped the name, how you stole it. I can't change that. But what I can do, as long as I still am here, is to stop it from getting worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“Cast-out from the Rogues, missing an arm? You're easy picking for a mad scientist. You want your arm back, I can see it. And you'd be dumb enough to accept the first offer. To get into the hands of some madman who will run experiments, who will torture you, just to be able to go back out and fly. You could be so much worse, and I will stop that.”

Axel hadn't given much thought on how to get his arm back, but there was never the slightest doubt that he would get one back. He knew people. Granted, Jesse was right, mad supervillain people, but they were capable. But he couldn't think of anything he wouldn't give to have his arm back. He supposed that it was a good thing James stuck around, if not someone from LexCorp, then undoubtedly some Gothamite – and those were all crazy people, on and off Arkham Island – would have tried his luck with Axel; most people were vultures and smelled weakness a mile away.

“I'll talk to the Rogues when I see them, put in a good word for you.”

“You'd do that?”

James' voice was like a knife. “I'll hate it, but the Rogues made you better. They're actually a good influence...when they're not dicks. And you need every piece of stability you can get.”

And that was effectively giving up his own place. James was giving up. Surrendering.

It was humbling. Sobering. And incredibly sad.

“I can call in a few favors from STAR labs, get some proper doctor to get a look at you.”

“You know people at STAR?”

“I have dirt on people at STAR, same difference.”

He grinned slyly, and Axel felt better, seeing that grin.

Then

“Thank you, I guess,” he said. Jesse looked at him and it felt like his eyes pierced his mind, as if he could read everything Axel thought and was hesitant to say or to admit, even to himself.

“Accepted.”

Axel felt very small, as if he was in the shadow of a giant. A dying giant.

“I have some calls to make, arrangements, and so forth.”

He left without saying another word and left Axel to his thoughts.

 

 

 

 

 

Axel woke up after a nurse poked his fingers again for a blood test for...something. She left the door open a crack and a stripe of light shone in from the corridor. He looked around and there he was – Jesse. Again sitting in the damn chair, but thankfully not holding his hand.

The shirt against his skin was ghostly pale and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes. He looked ...bad. When James was awake, he was so full of life, but at night...he seemed exhausted. Axel wanted to pity him until he remembered that it was James` own fault – he had never asked him come and certainly not to stay. The curtain rustled behind Jesse. Axel closed his eyes, determined to go back to sleep and not think about James. But...

The room didn't have any curtains!

Axel's eyes shut open and he sat upright, despite the beeps of protest of the machine which subsided quickly. There was a man behind James...was there? He was...not there, almost transparent. He was inhumanly tall, a shock of white hair and a long cloak that moved strangely, not like fabric should. Axel couldn't see his face clearly, but somehow he registered fangs.

“Hey,” he croaked.

The figure stopped and looked at him.

“Yes, you. Stop that.”

The figure lifted itself to its full height but kept a hand at the back of the chair.

“You can see me? Interesting.”

“I'm not blind, fuckface, my eyes work perfectly. Who the hell are you?”

“Fever hallucination. You're dreaming.” The voice – it felt like silk, like honey, like massage oil pouring over his body. Yes, he must be dreaming. He should go back to sleep. Everything was alright and - no, it wasn't!

Something was off about it, it was like - Axel couldn't describe it.

“Bullshit. You wouldn't be hanging off Jesse if you were my fever dream. Get away.”

The figure smiled and Axel felt cold. What the hell was that thing? And why wasn't James waking up?

“Well done, you're not as stupid as you look.”

“Then who are you and what do you want?”

“I'm Neron, Lord of Hell. And I am waiting.”

“For what? Chance to steal his watch off his corpse?”

There was a flash of green.

“Time until he will die and be mine.”

Neron - almost gently – stroked Jesse's hair and placed it behind his ear. Then he got close, too close, put his wrong mouth with his wrong fangs at Jesse's ear and whispered softly.

Jesse squirmed, arched away, but Neron grabbed his throat, and oh god, his hand went over the entire neck, squeezed and pushed him back into the chair. Jesse looked horrible, his skin was almost sickly pale and shined green. Axel tried to get up, fought with the covers and the tangles of lines that were hooked up to him, but the machines protested and shrilled harshly. His world went black for a second, and when he could see again, a nurse was shining a light into his eyes. A doctor was surveying the machines.

“Nightmare,” Axel croaked. “I just...”

“It's okay. Do you want something to help you sleep?”

Axel was tempted to accept, but he declined. He needed a clear mind to think about this.

What the hell was that?

 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

“I spoke to Mick” Lisa said, settling in the glass palace that Sam had made. For her, he claimed, but she knew that he had built that thing for himself, narcissistic little bastard that he was.  
“Still the old record of 'boo-hoo, Len ruined my life? We really should get T-shirts made.”  
“I'll take 10 then. No, James is in town, he visited him.”  
“He is?” Sam didn't flinch, not quite, but he tensed up.  
“Apparently he's making a tour, Marco has also seen him. He acted weird and then said goodbye.”  
“He always acts weird.”  
"Mick said it was really weird. I haven't seen James since - ages ago. That business with Lex that went wrong, he split right after that, didn't he?"  
"Truth be told, I think he wanted out before that."  
"Why do you think he's back?"  
"Knowing him: play tricks. The question is whether they're going to be malevolent, this time."

 

In the morning, Axel woke before James. And that was alarming. James wasn't alright, wasn't even bothering to fake it. In the light, Axel could see a clear plastic apparatus with tubes on Jame's arm, held in place by white tape. It looked....no, it was just like the one in his arm. But into his went an IV and James's wasn't connected to anything. Axel couldn't stand looking at him and seeing weakness it felt so wrong.  
“Hey, get up!” he called. “We need to talk.”  
“Do we?” James replied quietly. He shouldn't look tired, defeated.  
“Who is the tall guy with the Dracula teeth and green cape, and why is he perving on you?”  
The look on Jame's face was equal parts surprise and fear.  
“You saw him?” He leaned forward in the chair. “How?”  
“I don't know, I woke up at night, and there was this creepy shadow guy, whispering stuff. That.... that was bad, man. Who the hell was that?”  
“Oh, that was correct.”  
“What?”  
“That was Neron. As in the devil, from hell.”  
“Shit.”  
“You don't know half of it.”  
Axel thought of a nice, delicate way to talk about the subject, but although he had been able to fake politeness when it suited his needs, it was hard now, like something in him was rusted.  
“When did you meet the devil?”  
James leaned forward in the chair, rested his elbows on his knees and steepled his finger together underneath his chin.  
“I'm guessing that the guys never told you why we had a falling out and I left; I bet they were vague, trying to be mysterious and came off as threatening.”  
“Pretty much, yeah.”  
“One day, Len decided again that he wanted more, to be ambitious and take over the world, or at least America – he gets in those moods usually after someone has insulted his achievements and reputation. And because he's a dumb schmuck, he decided to drag the rest of the Rogues in as well; promised a once in a lifetime opportunity and whatnot. Piper was too smart and pigheaded; he had had enough of the criminal life; he was mostly in it to piss his parents off, when when he had grown out of his rebellious phase, the Rogues didn't have enough to offer.”  
“Traitor,” Axel spat almost automatically.  
“Hey,” James snapped back, “you don't know what went down, stop parroting what the others say in order to fit in.”  
“That's not - “  
“That is exactly what you're doing. Piper is my best friend, and you may be in a hospital, but I'm not above sticking itching powder in your bed.”  
“You wouldn't dare.”  
Wordlessly, James reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a brightly colored tube and shook it. “Try me.”  
Axel fell silent, motioning for James to continue.  
“It weren't pretty times, and although we usually stuck together through whatever stupid ideas one of us had, they were getting dangerous and stupidly reckless. Piper challenged Len, and when Len wouldn't see reason, Piper left for good. I think what disappointed him most was that none of the others spoke out against Len, too, everyone had doubts.”  
“And you?”  
“I admit, I didn't say anything at first. But it was as if Piper leaving shook me awake, and I began to reevaluate my situation. And I wasn't happy. And what was the point then, if I was unhappy? I told Len I'd sit this one out and frankly, that his idea was stupid as fuck.”  
“He didn't like that one, huh?”  
“Nope, first he yelled, then he threw a bottle at my face. I left him to cool down – yes, in those exact words – and waited.”  
“What happened next?”  
“Len had been listening to Lex and his promises of unlimited power, and both had listened to an agent of Hell; promising a deal – souls for power.”  
“No way.”  
“Different times; thankfully the Rogues tried to bail as soon as the nature of the deal was revealed, but Lex had sold them out. Tried to mark them up as sacrifices, 7 lives to open the gates of hell, or some nonsense. But, since we weren't 7 people and no one was willing to go along, it didn't work right. So the devil, Neron, tried a little deal: one year for each of us, so Len, Mick; Digger, Marco, Sam, Piper and me, meaning that we'd get 7 years of happiness and then afterwards we'd belong to him. Needless to say, no one was quite dumb enough to accept. Didn't matter since Lex screwed us over. While everyone dealt with impending doom in his own way – getting drunk or hunting for Lex – I spent some time in hell. Figured I'd get a head start. There, I found something very interesting. The devil wasn't the devil, he was a devil. There are several, and Neron was the head devil. For now. There were 6 other guys in line, and they didn't like him at all. I talked to some and they agreed to help me out. Lord Satanus and Lady Blaze were particularly helpful. You see, devils get their power from deals. Usually they deal wealth or power for souls, and souls get them power. But, deals are the one thing devils must adhere to. If they don't, they'd lose their power. Become weak and begin to fade away. That's what I had to do, that's what I had to do to Neron. I had to make him break the deal. And that's what I did.  
Neron sauntered over to me, asked me what I was doing. I said I was getting a head start, truthfully, since I knew that would happen in 7 years. He laughed and said that he expected me to do that. It was bullshit, but I figured that he had to say that. I waxed some sad stuff about my friends, but I never mentioned Piper. He noticed, and then I told him that, since Piper wasn't a Rogue anymore, he wasn't part of the deal. And that surprised him. He hadn't considered that we split up. Or that Piper split. So, he needed someone else. Only, there wasn't, anyone else. That was my opportunity: I told him about Lisa.”  
Axel sucked in a breath. James grinned.  
“Exactly. Of course he was wary, but I convinced him that since I was already damned, it couldn't get any worse for me, right? And it wouldn't hurt to make the right friends early on. Only to quickly, he agreed. So, he made Lisa part of the deal, since she'd been along on a few small heists. She was family. And that was the whole point. Our deal meant happiness for us: but there is no way in, literally, hell, that Len could be happy for even a second if he knew that his sister would end up in hell. Likewise for Lisa. None of them could be in this deal with the other. But Neron didn't know that. He wrote Lisa into the deal, and signed his own death warrant. The deal broke, since it was impossible to uphold. Neron was dying, or as close to dying as demons get. He was fading, like a ghost, screaming terrible things. And he promised revenge, eternal vengeance and all that crap. And since he blamed me, he marked me. For death, or vengeance, or whatever. People can't see that, but demons can. I'm a marked man. Lately, I've been hearing him. Whispers. Then dreams. I thought I was going insane, sickness eating me up, that sort of thing. My mind creating something to blame, someway to cope. But if you can see him... it's probably time. The line between life and death getting thin - makes sense, since he is as close to life as a dead man can be, and I'm so close to death already."  
Axel was silent. James was too, for a few minutes.  
"What are you going to do?" Axel finally asked.  
"Saying my goodbyes. What else is there to do?"

 

“Hey, my maestro of music”  
“James, stop.”  
“My sultan of sound?”  
“No.”  
“Prince?”  
“Of what exactly?”  
“Um – pianos?”  
Hartley snorted.  
“Hey, I'm not a musical genius, alliteration is hard!”  
“Well, at least you didn't say prima donna.”  
“Small mercies and all that.”  
Hartley bumped his shoulder into James' side. They were sitting on Hartley's hospital bed. Hartley was packing his things before being discharged – clothes and toiletries that David had brought over, along with a harmonica – and James was helping. “Helping” must have another definition in the official James Jesse dictionary, because he had brought along a heap of candies from the vending machines and was occupying Hartley's bed, and was most definitely not helping Hartley pack at all.  
Hartley informed him of the fact.  
“My company is help enough. You do the work, I look pretty.”  
“Just like old times.”  
“Yep, I distract everyone with my charms while you take them out.”  
“Your aim is to distract my clothes?”  
“It's the general idea, doesn't work on every occasion.”  
Hartley smiled. “It was nice to see you again.”  
“Yeah, you too. Me too. Whatever.”  
“Everything alright in the Jesse universe?”  
“What? Yeah, I was just distracted. Mind drifting a bit and all.”  
“Are you okay?”  
“What? Yeah, just been thinking.”  
“What about?”  
“Nothing. Everything. You know me, head in the clouds.”  
“And feet in the clouds.”  
“Everything in the clouds, basically.”  
“Yeah.”  
James jumped off the bed. “I have to go, Hartley.”  
“Really? That early?”  
“James grinned. “It's time. Take care, Hartley.”  
“Yes, you too.”  
They hugged, and James left. As he went out of the door, he waved.  
“Goodbye, Hartley.”


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 

The bar was empty except for him and the bartender. The man had been glaring at Len in order to silently tell him to leave, but Len had just glared back and ordered another drink. Miserable night. The dor opened and the bartender told the newcomer that they were closed. Someone slipped onto the seat next to Len and placed money on the counter. "I only want one drink, and a chat with my friend. In private." Then Len noticed that the bills had a rather high denomination. The bartender left, grabbing the cash on his way to the backroom.  
"I was wondering when you'd come for me," Len said.  
"Save the best for last? Or maybe I couldn't be bothered before."  
James hopped over the counter and poured himself a drink from one of the many bottles lining the shelf behind the bar.  
Afterwards, he sat down on the counter, legs crossed.  
"I'm not apologizing, if that's what you're after," Len told him and down the contents of his glass.  
"Apology? I don't deserve an apology, I deserve a hundred. A thousand! You could throw me a parade and it still wouldn't be enough!"  
"You endangered Lisa." Len said, as his only explanation.  
"Coming from you, that's rich."  
The counter frosted over, ice cracking.  
"Shut your mouth!" Len yelled. He looked up - strange that he hadn't done that before - and recoiled. He'd expected James to be angry, furious, maybe even sad; but it was worse. He grinned. And from his position, he was looking down at Len.  
"Look what you did to her, what you did to them - and then tell me that what I did was wrong."  
"You sold her to the devil!"  
"After you sold us!"  
"I didn't mean to!"  
"Fat load of good it did. I saved us all from your mess - and as thanks, I get thrown out and replaced. But maybe I should be thanking you, since it saved me from being possibly caught up in your little accident."  
Len's hands were fists, shaking with barely contained rage.  
"I wonder what that thing would have done to me. Melted the shoes into my DNA? Make me and fly and in return - I wonder what it would have taken? If I had been lucky, maybe just my sanity. Maybe I would be a wisp of the wind, a sad reflection of myself. Maybe it would have blown my legs off, who knows. Thank you for saving me, from you and the mess you continue to make out of everyone's life."  
Len threw a punch, fist misted in ice and cold - it could have done serious damage to James. But James had flung himself of the counter, and had landed gracefully on the floor.  
"You know, I was mad when you replaced me: with a punk who caused more death than all of us combined, a sad copy, a cruel mockery. But, after seeing how you treated him, maybe I was lucky that I got out when I did. Kid's in a hospital, quite literal half the man he was, and you're here, drinking. You should take better care of your Tricksters, seeing how little of them you still have left.  
Len howled and summoned his powers: the room was full of snow, icicles dangling from the ceiling. His breath was mist in the suddenly cold air.  
"Exactly how warm I pictured my welcome to be. Goodbye, Len."

 

David came into the hospital, humming softly. Finally, he'd been able to take Hartley home. The doctors had wanted to make especially sure that everything was alright with his implants, had flown in a doctor from Metropolis and everything. Thankfully, everything was alright, and he could pick Hartley up now. He stopped in the gift shop to buy another musical card – cheesy, but Hartley loved those – and stepped into the elevator. He exited and walked along the hallway. Then he saw something flash, and then he heard thunder. Strange, the weather reports had promised a sunny day.  
David opened the door to Hartley's room and stopped dead in his tracks. It was empty, safe for Hartley and what looked like Frankenstein's lab. Machine parts, cables, screwdrivers, something humming and beeping. Hartley looked up, a screwdriver clamped between his teeth.  
He greeted David, or at least that was what David made it out to be.  
“Why are you cannibalizing medical equipment?” David asked, mildly concerned.  
Hartley took the screwdriver out of his mouth. “I need a high powered sonic emitter. Now.”

He pulled the hood higher on his head and wished he brought along a real coat. He wasn't made for stealth and hiding. It started to rain, and although he tried not to, the droplets that hit him turned to ice. He'd have to move soon, before it became too obvious.  
“You should have brought an umbrella,” a voice behind him said. He didn't have to turn around to know who it was.  
“Or, you know, a proper jacket not a vest. With a hood.”  
“It's not a vest.”  
“It doesn't have sleeves, so it's a vest.”  
“I'm not half naked,” Len retorted and turned around.  
Of course, Mick had a coat and an umbrella. Showoff.  
Mick extended his arm so that the umbrella covered Len's head as well. Len noticed that the droplets evaporated whenever they got too close to Mick.  
A lot of things went though his mind, but he chose one to voice.  
“I'm sorry, you know.”  
“I know.”  
Both stared at the building in the distance.  
“What sort of thing has he got himself caught up with this time?”  
“Nothing good,” Marco said and touched down beside them.  
“You know, I was trying for subtlety here.”  
“Screw you, too, Len.”  
All three grinned.

“I hate hospitals,” Lisa said, more to herself than Sam.  
“Where is he?” she added after no response came.  
“I don't know,” Sam answered, “I can't find him. So many mirrors, so many metal.”

Axel startled awake, heart pounding. He didn't know what woke up – no touch nor sound – but it was urgent. He sat up, and when he felt something tug at his arm, he reached up and unhooked the IV bag from its pole. Finally free. His fingers touched something and he looked to the bedside table. On it was a parcel, like a shoe box. On top of it was a note. It said: “You need these more than I do.” He knew what was inside, what had to be inside, but still gasped when he saw the contents. A pair of airwalkers.

 

The wind tore at his clothes. James stood at the edge of the hospital roof. The rain had intensified, drenching his clothes. His bare feet were getting cold and wet. He smiled sadly. One last time. One last hooray.  
It would be over soon, and on his terms.

“Mark, do you see that? I think – I think there's somebody on the roof!”

He took a deep breath and stepped over the edge.  
James was deathly afraid of falling; had developed that fear as a child when being forced to perform longer under more and more unsafe circumstances, when his father didn't catch him and he broke bone after bone, and was forced to go on when he wasn't healed yet. This fear had led to him building the shoes, so that he would fall no more, not ever again. Axel had those now.  
It would soon be over.

Mark flew towards the hospital, a storm in his wake, as he tried to get closer. He couldn't let someone die, some poor soul jumping from a hospital, it wasn't right. Then he noticed the blond hair, the blue suit - “James!” he yelled and tried to fly faster, he needed to save James, but he had been too far away, the angle was never going to work, but he needed to try, this couldn't happen.

James didn't pay attention to anything but the fall, how it twisted his insides, how he felt like crying, fearing he had disappointed again, feeling inadequate, and how close the ground was.  
Almost there.

With a roar, something hit him, tore him out of his fall. It felt as if he had hit the ground, but he hadn't. Glass and chunks of stone on the one side, an invisible force on the other. He started laughing.

“Do you think this a game?” a voice roared, made his bones vibrate. James looked up – he had been smashed into a hospital room, but he was relatively unharmed. Someone had caught him at the last minute.  
“Hello Neron.”

The air shimmered like at great heat, flirring and twisting. He could see the ghostly outline of a man – inhumanely tall, imposing, monstrous.  
James started laughing. It was not a pretty sound.  
“I knew it! I knew it! You needed me!”  
Neron growled.  
“You were after me ever since I tricked you, weren't you? The whole marking thing was no joke. But you were powerless, I made sure of that. You needed a body, and you had chosen mine, But, it was still occupied. You need me! You want me – broken, empty, a shell of a man – but you need me.”  
He always had had his suspicions, but he couldn't be sure; maybe he really had been sick and had thus hallucinated. Maybe his mind had desperately searching for a way out and concocted this scenario, maybe he had needed an explanation other than “you're deathly ill”  
His plan had been made with both outcomes in mind – manipulated by someone else into sickness, or being manipulated by his sickness to blame someone else – so he had gone on a last tour, visited his friends, and planted just enough doubt to make sure they'd show up anyway.  
But then Axel had seen Neron, too, and then he had proof. Axel had needed blood after his last (hopefully) bout of stupidity, the hospital was virtually empty due to the attack, and James had had the right blood type. And back then, he hadn't been sure if he would have much use of it anyway.  
Something in his blood had made Neron visible, had allowed Axel to see.  
James wasn't sick, he had been poisoned. He had thought long and hard about the why – petty revenge, probably – but some things hadn't added up. Neron liked grand gestures, big diabolical plans, and quietly poisoning an enemy, so quietly that no one had noticed was not his style. Why kill if you didn't have an audience?  
“I figured it out, “it spilled out of James, “you were weakened after what we did. Almost destroyed, so you needed a new body. And since you had a claim on mine, you wanted to take it. But you couldn't, could you? It was still in use, after all, and you weren't strong enough to force me out. You wanted me weak and broken. Needed me to break, so you could take over, and then use the body of your foe to gain power and rule again. Now that seems like one of your plans.”  
“Yes,” Neron growled, and moved closer. He was still not quite there, but it seemed as if he were becoming more real, gained color and depth, with every step he took towards James. And with every step, James felt weaker. “sapping your strength, bit by bit, making me stronger while you grow weaker; whisper in your ear – it was delicious to watch. And now it's too late to stop me – you may have forced my hand by jumping, but it doesn't matter. By now, there isn't enough of you left to pose a threat. I shall take over your body and force you to watch as I kill your friends, and then take back my kingdom.”  
Neron took one step closer, and James could hear him – hear glass be crushed under his boots, hear clothes rustle, the cape sweeping over the floor. Become tangible. Suddenly he felt as if he couldn't get enough air, like a terrible weight was sitting on his chest.  
“It is over, Trickster,” Neron said smilingly.

“I agree!”  
Neron's head whipped around.  
In the gaping hole that had once been a hospital wall and window, there stood Axel, in James' airwalkers, proud in the air. There was an IV bag taped to his arm, and he was wearing boxershorts underneath a flimsy hospital gown. Not the shining knight from the fairytales, but James was content with what he got.  
“Insolent whelp!”  
“I have no idea what that means, but it sounds like you were just insulting me.” Axel grinned.  
“I shall rip you limb from limb,” Neron threatened, but made no move towards Axel.  
“Bit late for that party,” Axel said, “now step away from the old man and let the Trickster kick your butt.”

James felt a hand tug on his shoulder and smiled. Piper. He was not making a single sound – one of his little tricks – and helped James to his feet.

“Cease your prattling! Once I devour you,” he stopped and turned to look at James, “you are not going anywhere,” he threatened and moved closer. James felt weak and his knees buckled, he could almost feel his strength ebbing away.  
“Hey, fuckface, party's over here.”  
“I'm in no mood for your games.”  
“Pity, this one's one of my best, I call it: look at me, I'm a distraction!”  
“He is right, that's one of the Trickster's best ones.”  
James smiled.  
Next to Axel, there were the Rogues. Len on an ice slide, Lisa hovering, Mick and Mark on the hospital floor. Sam was, as he'd predicted, everywhere.

 

Lisa nodded towards the others. “Piper, shield. Mark, secure the perimeter, don't let him leave.” They obeyed without question. James felt incredible relief as he heard the low hum of Piper's sonic shield in place: it couldn't be seen, but that shield could stop a locomotive at full speed, he'd seen that happen. He placed a hand on Piper's arm, and Piper looked at him. “Patients safe?” he signed. Knowing Piper, he would have taken precautions. “David,” Piper signed back.  
Lisa stood in the middle of the rubble, Len at one side, Mick at the other. “I didn't get the chance to pay you back all these years ago. You go after one of us, you go after all of us,” she said.  
Neron lunged, getting more and more tangible, more real with every second, but lightning struck just outside of the hospital, making a harsh crack, almost like a whip. The wind that had stopped when Marco had tried to save James, came back with renewed strength. Neron was not going to leave.  
Little sparks of ember flew from Mick's hands, and the ground beneath Len had taken on an icy shine.  
“Heat travels upwards, doesn't it?” Lisa asked, only it wasn't a question. The Rogues – changed so much over the years – still remembered old plans, no matter what stupid names they had given them: Hail fellows; Disco of Death, Vivaldi revenge. Or, “heat travels upwards”. Mick blasted with full force, fire at shoulder level, forcing Neron to duck. Ice seeped from Len's feet over the floor, creeping up Neron's legs. Sam was in the ice, and yanked Neron's foot through the surface.  
Neron was getting weaker, more translucent.  
“You cannot hurt me,” he bellowed, “I shall linger in this weak form until I can gain more strength, you shall never know peace, never know quiet.”  
“I can still hurt you,” Lisa stated, the golden ribbons coming up behind her, almost like golden wings. “And I think I will”  
She struck, and James screamed.


	6. Chapter 6

Epilogue

James had apparently fainted when Lisa had hit Neron, whatever connection there had been between them severed. He had come to in a hospital room, surrounded by his friends. Piper had his hands around David – James should really clarify that he was not identical with boyfriend-James, but it was nice if someone else got the ridicule for that for once – Len softly bickering with Mick over something – did it really matter?- Marco slipping a note in his pocket – phone number, undoubtedly – Lisa and Sam being in a glass pane, and Axel – well, Axel was grinning like the little shit he was, sitting on the bed at James' feet.   
“I feel like a steamroller drove over me – and then put in the reverse. Ouch.” He sat up.   
“You, “Len said while pointing a finger, that was dripping with ice, at him, “owe us an explanation.”  
“I tricked you.” James offered.  
“You do that when you breathe, you're going to have to be more specific,” Lisa countered.   
“Okay, where to start? I thought I was dying, so I made a little farewell round to my friends, while, at the same time, being a bit ominous and mysterious and essentially guilt-tripping you all into coming here. And then I made you beat up Neron. And hey, it worked.”  
“You behaved like an ass,” Mick said.  
“I believed I was dying, and had some unresolved issues. Or did you want to risk me coming back as a ghost? Now that's a possibility...”

He did explain in more detail after a nurse had come in to see him - the Rogues conveniently hidden in the mirror over the sink in the corner - and they all realized what he had done. Of course they had spoken while he had been unconscious, but other than "James is an utter manipulative bastard" they hadn't gotten very far. But it all made sense. Devil's trap. Len began to say that he was still pissed about the deal involving Lisa, but Lisa had given him a piece of her mind: after all, it was her who had a right to be pissed, if any of them had, but since it was a trick to save all of then, she wasn't really mad at him. At Len however...

 

After a while, they left. Len told him to call next time before things got serious and punched him in the arm on the way out. James saw it as the sign of silent worry that it had been, but that didn't keep his arm from being covered in tiny snowflakes.   
Marco stood, trying not as if he'd been looking towards the door 10 times in the past minute when James sighed. “Marco, get me a soda?” he asked, and Marco recognized it as the offer it had been and left, in search for a phone to call the number he had oh-so-sneakily pocketed earlier.   
“I'll see you around,” Mick said in a tone that was half a question and half an order.  
“You will,” James replied.   
“Warn us next time,” Lisa ordered and punched his other arm.   
“Thank you, “James told Piper before he could speak, “and also thanks to you, David. By the way, I have never slept with Piper, so you can rest assured, I'm not going to win him back.”  
While David turned an impressive shade of red, Piper giggled and pushed David out of the room, promising they'd talk later.   
In the end, it was just him and Axel left.   
No one said anything for a while. Axel picked absent-mindedly at some threads on the hospital blanket, James lay silent, thinking for a while. He had time to think about what had happened, how close it had been. What would have happened if Neron hadn't been behind it all and slammed him into a room instead of him just falling to his death. Well, Marco had been there, so he would have lived. For a while, anyway. Most of his goodbyes had been fake, but what if – he shook his head. Best not to think about that. He hurt all over – bruises, cuts, fatigue – but it was a good, clean kind of hurt. Not the sickly thing he had felt before. He wondered if a true illness would feel the same, but then shook himself out of his musings. Before he could think of what had been if Neron had succeeded, all his strength drained away, helpless as a puppet while Neron took over his body. That was the subject of nightmares to come, not his present.

“You know, I really thought you were going to commit suicide when I found the shoes.” Axel said in a hushed voice.  
“It was fairly melodramatic, I admit,” it was a grand, noble, stupid gesture, dramatic and shocking.  
“But then,” Axel interrupted, “I thought of the one thing you taught me.”  
“Just one? Hey!”  
“Don't be stupid. I realized that I would never ever try to kill myself, that I'd never be so stupid again. And so I couldn't believe that you'd do the exact same thing. It had to be a trick, and really, kinda obvious. I remember what you said to me about the role we play – and I guess most of the crap I pulled was because I hadn't found mine. So, uh...thanks. For...all.”  
“Don't mention it.”  
“No, seriously,”  
“Yes, seriously, don't mention it to anyone, I'm supposed to hate you.”  
“And what do you do now?”  
“Honestly?”  
Axel laughed out, “you couldn't be honest if half of your blood had been replaced with truthserum.”  
“Quite possibly. I hate what you were, that is true, but I think that you can change. And I don't know yet if I'm going to hate who you will become.”  
“Thanks, I guess.”  
Both smiled. 

“You owe me an arm,” Axel continued.   
“I don't owe you anything, I'm merciful to even offer.”  
“You're an ass.”  
“So are you.”  
“I want my shoes back,” James said.   
“Trade you.”  
“Screw you. I take it you talked to the Rogues while I was out.”  
“Yeah, proper heart to heart and all that crap.”  
“Did you guilt-trip them for not visiting?”  
“Of course.”  
“Good.”

 

James leaned back. Brand new day, for both of them. He couldn't wait to begin.


End file.
